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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636053">The Bad, Bad Mages</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothergayselle/pseuds/mothergayselle'>mothergayselle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ellana lavellan [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Magic, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:01:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothergayselle/pseuds/mothergayselle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>dorian and lavellan make a bet and cullen thinks she's gonna die LOL but are we surprised</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ellana lavellan [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Bad, Bad Mages</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dating a mage was new for Cullen. As a former Templar, it was to be expected. An entire youth was spent reading about magic, studying how to intercept spells and nullify their effects. Even in the Tower, rumors about mage-templar relationships seeped into the walls, tantalizing the nearest ear with delicious, naughty details of the affair. Experimental magic in bed gone wrong, boyfriends and girlfriends stolen from the other -- the large replica of Andraste in the sanctuary defiled by unspeakable acts performed by the coupled… gossip like that wasn’t uncommon at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that, as Cullen learned later, wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The faulty experiments in bed… perhaps… had merit. In Lavellan’s defense however, those were on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All of it, even the oop-sies, helped contribute to the fact that his relationship with magic changed as he and Lavellan grew close. She was patient and helped him deconstruct all of the learned misconceptions taught by the Chantry... albeit, in an abrupt or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lavellan</span>
  </em>
  <span>-like manner. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Initially, Lavellan had chosen to speak to very few people about herself. Burdened by the weight of the proverbial crown and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of humans within the vicinity, Lavellan was often quiet. Only Solas was privy to her thoughts, a fact that had consistently annoyed Cullen, taunting from the back of his mind whenever he’d found a moment to himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What was even more distressing were the commonalities between the two elves: their mutually shared heritage -- despite Solas’s protests -- and their magic. Cullen couldn’t have anticipated that Lavellan would ever choose him. However, in the daydreams that </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> allowed for such a blessing, he’d imagined himself the most diligent student, an endlessly submissive disciple to the arcane arts rooted in the most basic parts of her identity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She would show him everything she desired, and he’d be so pleased to be wrong and corrected, and how </span>
  <em>
    <span>glorious</span>
  </em>
  <span> it would feel to finally release his learned hatred for what was so obviously a beautiful and fantastical way of life --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, go on then, you coward!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen paused the mental frivolities and looked up from his station. The warm, spring day was mild, a promise of life in the coming months. It wasn’t often that he worked outside, at the desk originally set up for him upon their arrival at Skyhold. It had little privacy, too much noise, and too many dauldings to ignore. The sun felt nice though, and was compelling to even the hardiest Ferelden after the cold months. When the weather agreed, it was an occasional indulgence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The majority of his days were spent pouring over paperwork and reports from the Inquisition’s military, so he was surprised to hear Dorian nearby. The mage rarely ventured outside the library and when he did, it was usually for something nefarious. Which meant more paperwork for Cullen. The likelihood of this increased when Cullen realized Dorian sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of Sera’s pranks, perhaps. A bucket of ale thrown on an unsuspecting fool, a flock of chickens released at an inopportune moment. The possibilities were endless really, but as long as it didn’t concern him, Cullen wasn’t too perturbed. This was another thing to ignore. Nothing to report or intervene with. Nothing that would result in serious injury, and minor report accidents could always be done away with. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sigh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mages. No. Not mages. People.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorian’s face glowed copper in the weak sunlight, and was inclined to the top of the front gate and its adjacent battlements. A feeling of unease tingled down Cullen’s spine as he followed Dorian’s gaze from where he sat at his desk. So, a serious injury report after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A lone figure poised on top of the tall entrance, and although collapses of the psyche weren’t exactly uncommon at Skyhold, it always chilled Cullen to behold the various ways a person could destroy themselves. He’d talked many a soldier down from such a precipice, and so his mind instantly launched itself into those memories, attempting to retrieve the helpful things he could say to this person who was so clearly experiencing a break in their psyche -- although, why in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world</span>
  </em>
  <span> would Dorian ever encourage something as horrific as that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because Cullen was a ruddy, stupid idiot. That’s why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was her hair. It was always, indubitably, the first thing he noticed about her. The inhuman, eternally stunning, silver hue of her hair that was somehow white and not white at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, Cullen’s finely-tuned, battle instincts would’ve had him on his feet within the second -- weapon drawn, muscles taut with the routine of one-thousand encounters. This was a different kind of war however, and Cullen felt his body lock down with terror. He was, for the first time in his life, frozen at the sight of his soulmate teeter-tottering atop of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>eighty-</span>
  </em>
  <span>foot wall as if it was nothing more than the height of the ladder in his room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was also extensively, at length, </span>
  <em>
    <span>confused</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Dorian!” Lavellan yelled back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Did she not see Cullen right there -- as he had been the whole afternoon, working -- watching her now? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to wait for the wind to stop, first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t need to see in order to know how hard he was clenching the edges of his desk. He could feel the meager wood loosen beneath his palms. He didn’t know where his voice was. Had he been born with one? Cullen couldn’t recall. He could only observe without understanding and shift his gaze from one mage to the other as they bantered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorian preened his robes as if they were the most important things in the world. “If you want to call it quits, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> so, dear. There’s no shame in backing out of a bet.” He paused. “Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s permanent, soul-crushing shame, of course. The personal kind. But one should then think of how fast the legends of your great, colossal cowardice will spread across Thedas, weakening the Inquisition’s influence, undermining its authority in every part of the wor--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorian’s ceaseless monologue ended the moment Lavellan dashed forward, completing one, full stride before leaping into the air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen felt himself physically choke on the air in his lungs as it rushed forth, spewing out of his body. Without consciously moving, he was on his feet at once, bracing the bulk of his weight against his desk as Lavellan swan-dived into the lethal space separating her body from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Dorian’s cheeks lift, as if he were </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleased</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the decision. Satisfied, somehow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan seemed to fall for an eternity. Her hair, loose, was a silver flame trailing after a comet. No scream. Nothing to suggest either terror or exhilarance. The soldiers he’d been too late to save -- some of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> screamed on the way down. If given the chance, Cullen would’ve bet on their regret at the halfway mark. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the other, more various scenario, there’d been some sort of marker to reveal the purpose of the exercise. A hollowed out wagon filled with hay to catch new assassins-in-training should they lose balance, or something along the likes. He didn't know the details of this or if it was safe -- all he had was the visual of the Inquisitor bound by a free-fall and rapidly advancing towards a dismount she wouldn’t survive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly all of the purpose in his life seemed to flee, leaving nothing behind but an emptiness that felt every bit as terminal as the inevitable impact of Lavellan’s body dashing to pieces.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He bolted out from behind his desk and prepared to catch her himself. Dorian stiffened as he passed -- irrelevant information to file away -- and Cullen flung himself into the sparse throng of bystanders who’d stopped to </span>
  <em>
    <span>watch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was but a slice of color above him, and he frantically searched for a way to soften his arms, cursing the hard, metal bracers he favored. Perhaps the trick was to relax his elbows so that she would sink naturally into them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bones would break, of course, but he’d do his best. Solas was talented at healing spells. As uncomfortable as that would be, he knew Solas would help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen planned to ride out the impact alongside it and defer to the natural laws of gravity. Instead of catching her without movement, he’d bend at the knees, dispelling the force of her fall into his own legs and hopefully away from her body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For her head and neck, he could widen the space between his arms, making room for the back of her skull to connect so there wasn’t room for whiplash. Of course, if her skull connected with the metal bracers too harshly, that would kill her as well. Would she, in her terror, raise a barrier to protect herself before contact? Would the instinct to survive override whatever instinct pushed her off the gate? Was that the only thing that could save her?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen, hazardously alert, projected his consciousness into every fiber of his body. No battle before had ever been this important. Not Kirkwall, not Corypheus, not even his own torture at Kinloch Hold. He would save Lavellan from herself and whatever moronic horseplay Dorian conned her into, and he stepped forward once more, leveling with her, whole-heartedly determined not to miss…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan passed over his head with ease, blurring with magic. She hopped in and out of the Fade -- a new ability to her ever-expanding arsenal -- and materialized above the ground beside him. The sound of shoulder blades scraping grass and dirt kicked up behind his back. A safety roll, to displace the momentum. Of course. And then, she was on her feet again. He’d felt the soft, separate vibrations of her boots register in the earth. The sound of her laughter followed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… how incredibly IMBECILIC he was! Senseless! A fool! A bone-brained buffoon! He was Orlesian, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Could he remember their national hymn? Cullen scrambled to find the words. Orlesian sycophants sang of their stupid, mother country. As a stupid Orlesian, Cullen was also required to sing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How had he ever completed Templar training? He was dull as rock! The most unintelligent, somehow sentient creature to ever disgrace Thedas! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Death. That was the only honorable thing left. He would fall on his sword that night, and a good riddance to the most ridiculous waste of life the world had ever seen. Did his living will include Lavellan? He made a mental note to leave her out of it. Disown her entirely. Josephine could work out the details, but Cullen would make sure to capitalize every letter: LAVELLAN GETS NOTHING.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pay up, you pretentious </span>
  <em>
    <span>oaf,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Lavellan spat, doubtlessly at Dorian. “And let this be a lesson that my pigheadedness is stronger than your vanity.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen was filled with stone. On the one hand, he was a bumbling ass -- his arms were still outstretched, waiting to fulfill a rescue that was never needed in the first place. On the other was the timbre of Lavellan’s voice. Breathless, but compelling. Playful. Adoring. Alive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But not for long.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mages. It was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>MAGES!</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had always been the mages! Evil, hateful minions of the dark. Cohorts of the lowly, manipulators of the real and solid. A tarnish to everything good. Bitter, poisonous vipers, infecting those around them with their wily wickedness. Cullen could see it now. What his life would be without their mischief constantly shredding his nerves like failed cheese! There would be a semblance of peace -- not much, but a morsel. Enough to survive on. Ampleness to purge the sick and twisted idiocy of magic from every corner of his existence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>He didn’t know what his face looked like, or if he still had one, but Cullen willfully lowered his arms. They felt like marble at his sides. A useless discarding of rock. They never</span> <span>would’ve been able to catch Lavellan like this. The simple texture of their skin would’ve killed her, smashed the bones in her body to dust. He was a simpleton for thinking he could have ever been of help. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He might’ve been wrong, but Cullen thought he was sweating. It was just as well. His physical form was clearly disintegrating under the guise that he was even remotely necessary to the world. Slowly, he commanded his feet to turn him around, to face the two mages and their heinous, flagrant disregard for his psychological well-being. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever Dorian had said in response to Lavellan’s barb was lost in the haze of Cullen’s own fury. When Cullen successfully rotated, Dorian’s glimmering eyes flickered from the elf’s onto his. They blazed violently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Glee. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Joy at his suffering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Evil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hateful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A devious, cat-like smirk pulled at the corners of Dorian’s mouth. He looked back to the Inquisitor, squaring his shoulders in what Cullen thought to be a show of smugness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, darling I hear you,” he said. A musical inflection seeped into his voice as he spoke. “A bottomless pit of humiliation and everything. Et cetera, et cetera. Now, may I direct your attention to a matter more pressing than my gigantic, unquenchable ego?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was minute comfort as Lavelan stiffened. Oh, look! What a familiar posture! Was that anxiety she was feeling? How</span>
  <em>
    <span> novel!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Evil.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen watched the color drain out of her. It was a slow process. Lavellan had become tanned during her escapades into the wilderness, darkening even the freckles dug across her cheeks and nose. Without the blush, only the violet in her irises were left, trembling with unease as she pivoted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even the vallaslin on her forehead, normally a blood and wine color, paled. It was almost comical how bleached and palid she was, leaving the most elven things about her to glow in defense of her now lifeless visage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t say anything at first. On a typical day, just the sight of her was enough to wind Cullen. He would melt with love for her and all of the silly antics, at her impish delight in always getting her way. Her way was usually the best way, at any rate. It was hard to disagree with such an amazing woman who was so caring, so</span>
  <em>
    <span> thoughtful about the needs of others. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blood leaking out of her must have found its way into his body, because he suddenly felt on fire, exploded from the inside out by all of the heat. Was the sun mocking him as well? Had it increased its intensity just to spite him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that she didn’t apologize right away was obnoxious. He was going to wait for it, for the eloquent, persuasive speech she would certainly give -- she always did when in trouble -- but there was only her silence. The horror in </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes at being exposed. The fear of a mere scolding etched all over her face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You just </span>
  <em>
    <span>HAD</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, didn’t you!?” Cullen shouted. Had he meant to yell? Probably not. This was good, though. Their first public fight. The Inquisitor and Commander. Nothing inappropriate about that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever worry about being reproached was visibly replaced with petulance. Such a child sometimes. Lavellan’s brow crumpled, and new blood found its way into her cheekbones as she yelled back at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, actually! I did! Dorian said I wouldn’t clear the jump and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> how I feel about being challenged like that!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen felt the familiar tug of the scar on his lip that contorted whenever he was angry. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know, Ellana. I know that you’re nigh a mabari, but STUPID! Idiotic! Who’s made you this dumb? Should we get you a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tutor</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored the blushed darkening of her vallaslin, which had always fascinated him. Twining, coiling lines of devotion to a patron god. In her culture, to choose a vallaslin was to choose the deity behind it, which Lavellan would soon need because Cullen would throw her off the battlements himself. Let her barrel roll out of that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ellana rolled her eyes at the insult. “You Fereldens and your dogs. Always needing to establish dominance, which is exactly my </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen grit his teeth together. “Dominance? Why would you ever need to dominate Dorian--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--Ooh, now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> an intriguing idea--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--when all he amounts to is a spoiled, rich brat who plays with corpses?!” Dorian earned a glare for interrupting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorian, still glowing in the warm, spring day, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tutted</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Cullen. “I believe the word you’re referring to is </span>
  <em>
    <span>necromancing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, good captain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen’s eyes narrowed to slits and Dorian grinned, showing Cullen his hands, palms out. Homicide wouldn’t help the situation. Probably. He had to remember to breathe, to inhale through the nose. Recalibrating with a shake of the head, Lavellan’s gaze was still when he returned to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He expected her to shout back at him, defend her best friend, but what she did surprised him. Lavellan cocked her head. Chewed on the side of her cheek and then laughed. All of the stress in her vallaslin smoothed out at once.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she conceded. Dorian grimaced behind her, as if he’d smelled something rotten and spent festering nearby. Then, the creeping, unconquerable smile she wore when she knows she’s won began slithering onto her awful, sinful, depraved, beautiful mage-face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In fairness,” she crooned, “I can now buy you the Orlesian whetstone you’ve wanted for so long.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>FUCKING Orlesians. Cullen didn’t know who was more corruptible than them, save for mages. Stinking, destructive mages.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen did note the proud look on Dorian’s face as Lavellan knowingly hoodwinked him into submission. Which, now that he thought about it, was also public!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to kill me,” was all he said. A simple revelation. The rage drained away and marble arms returned to flesh. What did his face look like now? Calm? Resigned to his inevitable, eventual death?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan cocked her head again, swaying like a teenage girl in love. Overdoing a bit, if you asked him. The final nail in the coffin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if I do,” she started, “I could always bring you back.” And then she proceeded to lift her left hand -- the Anchor hand. Its green magic pulsed as if to emphasize the promise. Or, was it a threat?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorian stifled a laugh when Cullen’s mouth audibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>popped</span>
  </em>
  <span> open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Magic was terrifying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> was terrifying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d meant to bring a hand to his face, to rub away the stiffness in it. When the glove connected though, Cullen heard a loud slap echo across the courtyard. Lavellan flinched. Maybe the gesture had been too violent? He didn’t feel it. He was only aware of the ache in his head -- a timeless throbbing -- as if the pain had always been there. Because of magic, obviously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan’s mouth curled with a new smile. “Maybe you should go rest, Cullen. I promise not to jump off anything else today. Sound good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wished she would just shut up because everything she was saying only made it worse. Cullen knew he would have nightmares about this day… as if he didn’t have enough already. Pointy, horrible dreams about her willingly jumping to her death would probably never leave him, and it was all of her fault. And magic’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m going to go… slip into a coma or something.” But of course, Lavellan could always rip the Fade apart just to find and bring him back -- a horrific addendum.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But, no. Only one thing mattered now. His bed. Technically, it was Lavellan’s bed, as he’d taken to sleeping with her at night. Under normal circumstances he would’ve been too shy to slip into her room during the day. So many people around to gossip. Not that their relationship was a secret, but it was the principle of the thing. A demerit in the gentlemen’s code.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Although, because she’d single-handedly ripped the nerves from his body, he’d never have to worry about anything else ever again! With Lavellan’s bed and a few hours of unbothered rest, he’d be as good and traumatized as any other well-adjusted person in the Inquisition.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cullen shuffled forward, pausing, because the normal routine called for a kiss on the forehead. Before he lowered himself however, his eyes narrowed of their own accord, squinting like two astrariums which combed through her face, scouring it for an iota of common sense. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where was it? Smothered, choking behind all of the magic? Struggling to be set free and realized? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What has she done to you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cullen wondered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What has the bad, villainous, shameful mage put you through? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a glower to his face when he returned to it. More of a scowling really, as if she was the first darkspawn to ever curse the planet. Not too far off the mark. Elves could be darkspawn too, right? What were they called? Shrieks? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at him with ease. Lavellan knew she’d gotten away with it for the most part, so what else was there to do but pity him? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll meet you tonight,” she said, leaning up to kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> forehead. The vallaslin stretched with her smile. Blood and wine and wayward, contemptible neglect for his mental well-being. Shimmering, fiendish, magnificent violet drilling into him, carving the soundness out, one blink at a time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Words, incoherent, bubbled from him. A string of oaths, perhaps. He headed for the castle’s staircase when more words percolated. Loudly. He didn’t turn to personally tell her, nor did he modify the volume of his voice. He merely called into the air, letting all of the Inquisition -- and the Maker -- hear him as he headed to bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>You can sleep on the sodding ground for all I care. I’m locking your door.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan would unlock it within the span of a single heartbeat, but that wasn’t the point. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The point was that he was tired and emotionally scarred and she could leave her stinking, e v i l magic outside their bedroom entrance where, at least for that night, it could no longer disturb the very fabric of his soul. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If he launched her off the bedroom balcony and into the Frostbacks, would a safety roll still save her? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something to consider.</span>
</p>
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